


third time's the charm

by serendipitiness



Series: sh ficlets [6]
Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Angst, Coda, Episode: s03e01 On Infernal Ground, Episode: s03e02 The Powers That Be, Episode: s03e03 What Lies Beneath, Episode: s03e06 A Window Into An Empty Room, Episode: s03e10 Erchomai, Gen, Good Parent Maryse Lightwood, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-25
Updated: 2019-04-06
Packaged: 2019-04-08 02:57:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 17,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14095614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/serendipitiness/pseuds/serendipitiness
Summary: “I did dream about it,” Alec finally answers slowly. “For a long time. But –” Maryse hears him swallow, hears the crackle of him switching the phone to his other hand. “It’s not my dreamnow. I want to stay in New York. I’m happy here, and he can’t – I can’t be anywhere else.”(or a series of coda ficlets from shadowhunters s3)





	1. Chapter 1

“Is everything okay?”

It’s the first thing Maryse thinks to ask when she sees Alec’s name lighting up her phone, the vibration of it clattering loudly against her desk. Not even a week has passed since – well, since  _everything_ happened, and in that time, she’s woken up too many times in the middle of the night to visions of Alec or Izzy or Jace, hurt and in pain and thousands of miles from her arms. Add to that the political clean-up in Idris and rumbles of discontent about upstart shadowhunters and downworlders being the ones to take out Valentine, and… well. Maryse is tired.

“Everything’s fine, don’t worry,” Alec answers, and she smiles at the sound of his voice. “I just wanted to talk to you.”

“Thank god,” she says, leaning back into her chair and letting her spine slouch lazily against the leather. “I’ve been having actual nightmares about the million ways things could be going wrong.”

“Just give it a few days. We’ll get there.”

Maryse shakes her head in amused agreement, and lets the rumble of Alec’s easy chuckle wash over her, before asking, “So how are you?”

It’s not meant to be a serious question – she expects Alec to respond with, “I’m good, and you?” But there’s a moment of quiet static, interrupted only by the swooshing sound of a nervous breath. She sits up, furrow already forming on her brow. “Alec, are you –”

“I was offered a position on the Council under Jia Penhallow. As a delegate.”

“Oh my god,” Maryse blurts out. “Alec, congratul –”

“I said no.”

Her smile drops, and she recoils at Alec’s hard tone.

“It’s done, so you can – you can be angry if you want. I just needed you to know. In case you run into Jia or Aline or anybody in Idris. I only just turned down the offer yesterday, so they might still bring it up, or ask why, or something like that.”

Maryse closes her eyes and rubs at her temples with her free hand, kneading deep until it hurts. The ache focuses her for a moment, helps her momentarily tamp down the swelling rush of ire that Alec had knowingly predicted.

“Alec, I’m not angry,” she says uselessly. They both know it’s something of a lie from the tightness of her voice. “But I don’t understand. You used to talk about moving to Idris, sitting on the Council, making decisions with them. This is a fantastic opportunity, it’s… it’s what you’ve always dreamed of.”

She hears the screech of chair legs against hardwood, and she imagines Alec rising to his feet in the office, pacing by the bookshelves, running his hands through his hair until it’s an absolute mess. She hates to make him unhappy, hates to make him explain himself, but even if she ignores the fact that this would be a great step up for the Lightwoods, this is something that  _Alec_  used to bring up all the time. She doesn’t understand.

“I did dream about it,” Alec finally answers slowly. “For a long time. But –” Maryse hears him swallow, hears the crackle of him switching the phone to his other hand. “It’s not my dream  _now_. I want to stay in New York. I’m happy here, and he can’t – I can’t be anywhere else.”

Reflexively, Maryse opens her mouth to say something. Something like, “We can find a replacement for you at the Institute,” or “take advantage of the opportunity,” or “take some time to think about it.” But in the space of a breath, Alec’s words sink in, his desperate tone, the stuttered phrase _,_ and her anger deflates as she realizes –

“Oh, Alec.”

“Mom, I –”

“I understand.”

And she does. She really, truly does. Maryse wonders, sometimes, if the strain of the last few years of her marriage has made her children forget that once, a long time ago, she  _did_  love Robert. She wanted to be where he was, to wake up in the same bed as him, to have him as close to her as possible. For that span of time, as short as it was, being with him made her happy.

That type of love might be gone now for her, dead and buried away, but it’s not gone for Alec. It might – well, it might  _never_ be gone, if she knows her son as well as she thinks she does. Maryse sees it every time she visits New York these days, in the shine of his eyes and the strength of his words, the way he thrives not only as Head of the Institute, but just as… as himself. As Alec, in his entirety. And if Magnus Bane is what Alec wants, and if being apart from him makes Alec unhappy, then she’d be the most terrible mother in the world to deny her son that joy.

“Does he know about your decision?” she asks gently. She cradles the phone against her ear, and wishes she could give him a hug.

“Um,” Alec starts, thrown off, maybe, by her quick change in opinion. “Magnus knows. I told him first. He asked me to stay, and I want to stay, so… so I’m staying.”

Maryse exhales and grins. “Okay. You’re staying. Thank you for letting me know, Alec. If Jia asks why you declined, I’ll tell her – well, I’ll tell her something.” Something more politically appropriate than the fact that her son would rather stay in New York, with family and friends and a boyfriend he loves, than serve on the Council in Idris.

“So,” she eventually hears on the other line as Alec clears his throat. “Anyway. How are you?”

Maryse nearly snorts in laughter. “I’m doing well, Alec,” she says as she picks up a pen and rolls it between her fingers. She glances to the side to look at the court papers on her desk, neatly stacked and signed, and reaches over to pick them up. “I’m doing really well.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> post-3x02 coda, filling in a space i thought needed more time dedicated to it

Catarina is drinking tea when he and Alec walk through her door.

Magnus’ eyes dart around the room, searching for Madzie before lingering on the delicate white cup Catarina is holding with passive interest. He observes the way her fingers wrap around the handle, hears the clink of it against its matching plate, before he finally smells the bitter scent of kava wafting in the air and startles. He knows kava – he’s used it enough times to be remember with particular clarity the potency of it, the way it eases anxiety, calms the shaking in his hands after a particularly bad dream – but its presence here in Catarina’s grip makes Magnus’ stomach drop. Inhaling heavily and letting peppery flavor sink into his lungs, he squeezes Alec’s hand and gestures toward the cracked-open door of Madzie’s room.

“I’ll come say hi after,” he says under his breath. “Can you go play with her first?”

Alec opens his mouth, maybe to protest, but he shuts it when his wandering gaze catches onto Catarina’s still, sitting form. There’s a look of consternation that passes over his face, the corner of his lips turning down, but he nods, staying just a moment to brush his thumb over Magnus’ knuckles before he swiftly disappears into Madzie’s room.

It’s three steps until he’s at Cat’s side, and four until he’s able to gently pull the cup from her grip and banish it with a snap. Her hand, when he clasps it tight in his own, is cold and clammy, despite the heat of the tea.

“How are you?” he asks quietly.

Catarina doesn’t say anything, doesn’t look up at him. Magnus watches her carefully, the lines cutting between her brows, the parentheses bracketing her mouth. Her eyes are shining as they stare at nothing, liquid bright under the afternoon sunlight streaming in from the windows. In many ways, Catarina’s face is as familiar to Magnus as his own, and Magnus already knows with absolute certainty that this is Catarina’s own brand of heartbreak, making itself known in the misery of her expression.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asks, before kneeling down onto the carpet and bracing his other hand against his thigh. “I’m here for you, if you do.”

She closes her eyes, chin dropping to her chest, before Magnus hears, quiet and brittle, “I killed her.”

“Cat –”

“Mrs. Harper. She was 71, and her kids wanted more time with her before they let her go, and I –” Catarina heaves a choked breath. “I killed her.”

Without a word, Magnus opens his arms. He lets his heart constrict when Cat’s face crumples once more and she falls forward, forehead knocking on his shoulder, blunt nails digging painfully into his jacket as she trembles.

“Oh, Cat,” he says. “Cat. You didn’t. It’s not your fault.”

“It is. If I hadn’t been there, if I hadn’t –”

“No.” Magnus holds her tighter, feeling her heartbeat racing where her temple is pressed to his cheek. “I know you think it is, but this isn’t on you.”

He’s aware his words can only do so much. Catarina has spent her entire life dedicated to healing, to helping children live to experience adulthood, or giving soldiers another day to see the sun. Any inopportune death is one she feels she could have prevented, and to know that this one took place at her hands isn’t something she’ll soon forget.

“This isn’t on you,” Magnus repeats with conviction, stroking her hair and breathing in the clean, soapy smell of it. “It wasn’t your intention. Blame the corrupted ley lines, or the Greater Demon behind all of this, but don’t blame yourself.”

It takes a few seconds before her shuddering subsides, but Magnus detects the exact instant when Catarina absorbs his words – or at least a part of them. He feels her spine stiffen under his hands, her hair brushing his ear as she lifts her head. The dullness of distress is minimized in favor of a new alertness on her face, an attentiveness not visible before.

“Greater Demon?” she asks.

Magnus swallows, throat working as he says, “The night of the party, Lorenzo properly identified that the demonic magic originated from – well, from Edom. I’ll likely have to collaborate with both him and the shadowhunters to fix this.”

Catarina looks concerned now, teeth worrying at her lip. “Is it Asmodeus?”

Sighing, Magnus shakes his head, letting both his hands trail to hold onto Cat’s. “It isn’t him. Alec and I returned to Lorenzo’s to do some investigating, and whatever it is…” Magnus pushes himself up onto the couch next to Catarina, and presses his knee to hers. “I don’t think the shadowhunters understand the gravity of what I mean when I say that the magic I detected is  _evil_. I recognize his magic, I can control it, to some degree, but this – it’s worse than my father, Cat.”

Catarina squints, tilting her head close as she focuses on Magnus’ eyes. The pressure of her grip on his hands increases. “So Alec knows, then,” she says. “About him.”

Magnus opens his mouth, then closes it. He blinks a few times as his gaze drops down toward their entwined hands, distracted by the way the dull silver of his rings presses into her fingers. In contrast to his own, her skin is permanently rough and chapped from years of constant handwashing; she’s always had bigger things on her mind than callus-free palms.

“He knows. He said – to quote – ‘I don’t care who your dad is.’”

Magnus looks up at the sound of Catarina’s long exhale, a breath that turns into a small, honest smile. More than anyone else in the world, she recognizes the magnitude of Alec’s statement, likely even more than even Alec does. She’s seen how many people have left him over the years; she knows what it means to have someone stay.

“I’m happy for you, Magnus,” she says warmly. “Alec is – well, no offense, but he’s much better for you than I might’ve thought at the start. I’m glad that he knows. And I’m glad he knows that you aren’t a reflection of your father.”

“I try not to be,” he chuckles, if only to make light of a situation that’s weighed on his chest for his entire life. It’s only in recent centuries that he’s started understanding that blood, for all its importance, only means so much, and even though he is Asmodeus’ son, it doesn’t mean… well. He knocks against Catarina’s arm as he shakes himself free of his thoughts. “I wish  _you_  would know, too, that the situation at the hospital isn’t your fault.”

Catarina shrugs, before conjuring another cup of tea – a soothing chamomile this time, fragrant and flowery. “Some part of my head knows that, but the rest of me is still trying to catch up.”

“It’s a good first step,” Magnus says, leaning against Catarina and pressing his chin into her shoulder. From behind a wall, he hears a shriek, high-pitched and joyful, followed by deep, rolling laughter, and he feels himself smiling as he relaxes into the couch. “Definitely a good first step.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> magnus and alec, post-dinner with maryse in 3x03

He stares at the ceiling and thinks: _I don’t know what I expected from her._

Awkward smiles, maybe. A stiff spine. Eyes reserved for Alec alone, ignoring the man sitting next to him, the man who’s in love with her son. It’s how she’d always been; Magnus remembers it keenly, the cold words, the seraph blade on her hip, the hard fire in her expression that’s never changed, from the moment he first saw her as a young woman with an angry red rune on her neck up until he saw her last in the aftermath of Max’s party.

It would be naive of him to expect anything else.

But tonight, over beef stew and red wine and old stories with curled, yellowed corners, an odd sense of peace had settled over him… had settled over  _them_. For the first time, Magnus hadn’t felt Maryse’s hatred as she sat across from him. He’d felt – well, he can’t say it felt like affection, because there are too many old wounds between them that won’t heal, and will never heal. But it felt like amiability. Like respect. It felt like she was meeting his eyes for the first time, like she was listening to  _him_ , and understanding that the man who was speaking to her was as much a person as she was.

A part of Magnus feels foolish. Her behavior wasn’t exceptional; her own children are living proof that not all shadowhunters are prone to hate. Still, it had been hard to act like this was normal – Maryse Lightwood had used the word “warlock” as an insult too many times for the significance of her honest smiles not to hit him hard. Tonight, her careful attention on him, on Alec, had felt less like an accusation and more like genuine curiosity: he had noticed when Maryse’s gaze followed Alec as he walks through the loft, his ease of movement belying his familiarity with the space; or when her head tilted as Alec nudged his shoulder against Magnus’ at his first bite of stew; or when her eyes lingered as Alec’s hand rested on the back of Magnus’ chair, fingers easily brushing against Magnus’ neck, the way Alec likes to do.

“Thank you for loving my boy,” she’d said afterwards, quiet and serious and earnest in a way he’s never seen from her. Magnus can still feel her hands where she wrapped them around him, pressed to his back. Those rough hands. Strong hands. Hands of a warrior, hands of a killer.

Hands of a mother.

“Magnus?”

Magnus blinks to see Alec, skin flushed pink from the shower, soft and rumpled in sweatpants, standing on his side of the bed and staring down at Magnus, who’s been sitting against his pillows with statue stillness. Without a word, Magnus pulls the sheets back, smiling a little in welcome as Alec falls onto the mattress, exhaling like the weight of the world is pressing down on his lungs. Instinctively, he curls into Magnus, who lifts his arm up and lets Alec settle his head on Magnus’ chest.

For a minute, they’re quiet.

“You know,” Magnus finally says, before he’s even aware he opened his mouth. “I used to hate her. Your mother.”

He feels Alec shift in his arms, neck craning so that he can catch the words from Magnus’ lips.

“It felt justified, since she hated me too. Though to be fair, I kind of hated all shadowhunters for a while for – well, for a lot of reasons.”

“Magnus,” Alec murmurs. He fingers stroke against the wings of Magnus’ collarbones, the faintest touch that burns warm with intimacy.

“The things Maryse said to me today,” Magnus continues slowly, contemplatively. “I’m still trying to reconcile in my head that any of that was real.” He turns to brush his lips over Alec’s hair, almost laughing at the damp, fragrant scent of sandalwood tickling his nose. “All I can think of is that in the end… I know she was talking to  _me_ , but she changed because of you. For you. That’s what you, and Isabelle, and your generation… that’s what you’re capable of accomplishing.”

Alec twists in Magnus’ arms until he’s sitting up, his hand laid flat over Magnus’ heart, his expression candid and open as he says, haltingly, “I think I – I think I only changed because of you, though.”

Magnus shakes his head, almost violently, as he straightens and faces Alec. Under yellow-hued lamplight, Magnus sees purple punched under Alec’s eyes and in the hollows of his cheeks; his exhaustion is written in capital letters on his face, yet he’s still so, so lovely. “I might have given you a nudge,” Magnus says, raising his hand to smooth his thumb over the tired edges of Alec’s mouth, “but the rest was all you. You would’ve gotten here eventually, Alexander, with or without me.”

Alec leans forward. Their noses bump as Alec kisses him, infinitely gentle, before slowly pulling away. “With,” he says firmly.

Magnus chuckles a little, something aching sweetly under his ribs, then lies back on the pillows again. “I can’t say no to that.” A moment’s pause, comfortably silent, and then he asks, “Do we have a plan to make sure your mother keeps her runes?”

“We?” Alec looks confused.

“Your mother’s made mistakes, to be sure, some that I’ll never forget for all my lifetimes, but even I know this isn’t justice. Retroactive retribution is – it’s still retribution. And whatever you do to protect her from that, I’ll stand by you.”

Alec’s brows thread together, chin trembling slightly as he meets Magnus’ gaze. “I don’t know what to do,” he says in a rushed exhale.

Magnus pulls Alec down toward him, snapping his fingers to dim the lights. It’s dark enough that Magnus can’t see anything except the faint reflection of moonlight in Alec’s eyes as they curl together, the open and close of parentheses, sharing contact at their foreheads, hands, knees.

“Sleep, then,” he says, “and we’ll figure this out tomorrow.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> sometimes things suck ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

Alec is barely two steps into the bedroom when he starts to feel sick.

He stands frozen, toes digging into the carpet, heart still pounding madly as he stares at the unmade bed in front of him. The pillows are lumped close and the scarlet sheets are all bunched on one side where he and Magnus had curled together in sleep, arms wrapped tight throughout the night despite the conversation yesterday that had left Alec feeling so off-kilter. He’d thought – he’d  _hoped_ – that he’d forgotten it all by morning, and maybe, for a moment, he had. It’d been easy to roll out of bed, press a lingering kiss to Magnus’ bare shoulder, and start that French toast recipe he’d found online; it hadn’t been until Magnus had stumbled into the kitchen with an awkward half-smile on his face that Alec had remembered.

And now he’s standing here, in a room he’s not even sure he can call theirs anymore, breath coming short, nails digging into his palms, wondering when the hell it went wrong. There must have been a moment, he thinks. One single instance when he had tumbled into a fever dream and forgotten that he was a shadowhunter, that Magnus was a warlock, and that they were never meant to have a “happily ever after.”

Was it the wedding, when he’d walked away from everything he’d ever known and stormed down the aisle for that first kiss he’d always wanted but never thought he’d have?

Was it that night, that night when Magnus had laid him bare with golden eyes and lips dragging over his jaw, laughter effervescent and warm on Alec’s skin like sunbeams in a New York summer, or –

Was it from the very beginning? Was it that first moment when Alec and sent an arrow through the leg of a Circle member and found himself smiling stupidly at the most beautiful man he’d ever met?

“Fuck,” he says into the empty space, voice booming loudly enough that Alec’s afraid it’ll echo out into  the kitchen where Magnus still sits. Alec wonders if Magnus regrets his words; he’d looked like it, in those moments before Alec had rushed off. His expression, in the aftermath of their argument, had been wrecked and vulnerable in a way that’s become horribly familiar. Alec’s been the cause of it enough times to know.

But  _during_ …  Magnus had brushed him off so easily. He’d somehow, inexplicably, laid the problem at Alec’s feet. Of all the hurts they’ve inflicted on each other, somehow this feels like the worst: how could Magnus, who’s always been kind and understanding of Alec’s mistakes, even mention Alec’s lack of experience, knowing he’s the first man Alec has been with, the only man Alec’s ever wanted to be with this way? Maybe he hadn’t meant to make Alec feel like he was a child, naive and stupid, but the lack of intention doesn’t stop the accusation from leaving behind a sharp ache that claws at Alec’s chest.

Though, if wanting a singular, lasting love, or wanting to be an equal partner, or wanting to be there for the man he loves,  _always_ … if wanting all of that is childish, then Alec supposes he’s a child indeed.

Clenching his jaw, Alec makes for the closet. He ignores newly purchased blazers and ironed shirts, throwing on an old leather jacket and gray sweater instead. With a deep breath, he makes for the living room before he loses his nerve, eyes focused on the exit and boots thumping steadily against the floor. He winds around the sofa, eyes glued to the floor until –

“Alec.”

Alec pauses, swallowing thickly to rid his throat of the renewed sour, cloying emotion welling there. He turns slowly to lock gazes with Magnus, who’s standing in his seat, the silhouette of his broad shoulders backlit by the sun.

“Alexander,” Magnus says quietly, and Alec feels a fluttering against his ribcage at the sound of his full name falling honey-smooth and sad from Magnus’ tongue. He looks delicate, almost, the black of his eyeliner is soft, smudged, like he’d been rubbing his eyes, the hollows of his cheeks prominent, his mouth opening and closing.

“Alexander. I’m… just,” he tries. He pauses, blinking twice and rubbing his fingers together, before adding, “Will you – will you be home tonight?”

 _Home_ , Alec thinks.  _Ha_.

For the first time in a long time, Alec can’t bear to look at Magnus. He inhales, long and shaky, and faces the door before he presses the heel of his palm into his eyes, pressing so hard he sees cloudy white behind his eyelids. White… white like his hair when time passes, when his muscles grow soft and his bones go weak. White like Magnus’ teeth when he smiles stiffly, beautiful and young and pretending it doesn’t bother him that Alec is old and frail –

 _Fuck_.

“Magnus. I… I’ll see you later,” Alec manages, choking on the words, before he stalks out the loft and slams the door shut.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> post 3x10 sads

“You need to rest,” Catarina says when she comes in on the second day, after she’s checked up on Alec.

“We’ll watch him,” Izzy adds with the kindest smile, squeezing Magnus’ arm as she tilts her head toward her brother. He’s still mostly unconscious, falling in and out of fitful sleep, brows knitted together in a grimace every time he shifts on his infirmary cot and jostles the red hole in his chest. Catarina’s done her best with it, knitting flesh together with gentle magic, but no matter her power and the number of iratzes applied, adamas-inflicted wounds still burn something fierce, and it will take time for Alec to fully heal.

Magnus curls a hand around Alec’s jaw. His thumb strokes the purple-bruised skin under his eyes, brushing against his long, dark lashes. Alec… Alec definitely looks better than he did in the alley, in the immediate aftermath of that fight, but still. Magnus’ throat aches like he’s being choked, because this – this isn’t enough. Magnus wants to see those hazel eyes, to feel Alec’s smile against his mouth, to hear the sound of Alec’s laugh.

Almost nothing is the same, but at least  _that_  would be.

“Magnus,” Catarina murmurs from behind him. “Alec’s improving, but you’ve been up for thirty-six hours. Please let me take you home. Just for a shower and a nap, then you can – I’ll bring you back.”

Blinking once, then twice, Magnus exhales, letting his spine slump. He knows there’s sense in her words, knows that she’s right, so he nods and slowly stands up, wobbling forward as the blood rushes to his head. He bends forward a few moments later to press a kiss against Alec’s temple, lingering longer than is strictly required. His lips feel dry against the dampness of Alec’s skin.

“Okay,” he says quietly.

When Magnus turns around, it’s to meet Isabelle’s open arms, wrapping vise-like around his waist. Magnus swallows; she’s so strong and fierce and determined, and he doesn’t know how to tell her how glad he is that she’ll always be at Alec’s side, to protect him at times like this.

“Thank you, Magnus, for everything,” Isabelle says. “I’ll call you if he wakes up while you’re gone. I promise.”

“Okay,” Magnus says again. His bottom lip trembles, but he stifles it with a smile.

He follows Catarina toward the door, taking five steps before he stops and turns his head. His gaze lands on Alec’s lovely face, the way it always has, and something in his chest stutters when he sees how small Alec looks from here, how fragile he seems tucked under the infirmary’s generic threadbare blankets. Magnus had wanted to bring silk sheets from home for Alec, knowing how much he loves them, the way he likes to stretch out on them in the morning with his head on Magnus’ chest and his limbs sprawled over the edge, but Magnus couldn’t –

“Let’s go,” he tells Catarina.

It’s a somber walk to the heavy wooden doors leading outside. Magnus keeps his gaze down, following the steady tread of Cat’s sensible white tennis shoes. The hardwood floors turn to concrete on the front steps of the Institute. It’s a familiar place, this spot.

“Come on, slowpoke,” he hears, and Magnus meets Cat’s warm eyes. She’s already one foot through a swirling portal, and obediently he goes after her until he finds them in the hallway to his loft. The door right in front of them is gleaming and familiar, and it takes him a whole ten seconds of staring at it before he feels the muscles of his face relax.  _Home_ , he thinks. Because if anything, at least  _this_  still belongs to him. His body might be relearning how to be a person without his – without his magic, but this little corner of Brooklyn is the same. This is  _his_.

Smiling almost genuinely at Catarina, he places his palm on the door, and.

And.

Oh.

_Oh._

_I can’t open it._

It’s violent, the way the sobs wrench themselves from out of his lungs and mouth. The sound is wholly involuntary and uncontrollable, like the his bones are finally realizing exactly what it is that he’s lost and crumbling under the weight of all of it. Two days’ worth of tears suddenly well in his eyes, until he can’t even see the chipped nail polish on his hands through the blur.

“Cat,” he mumbles around the thickness in his throat, hands scrabbling uselessly against the door. “I don’t have a key. I’ve always just – Cat, I don’t have a key.”

He feels more than sees her pull him into a hard hug, pressing her chin to his shoulder, fingers digging into his back. “Magnus, love, it’s okay. I can open it. Oh god, it’s okay, please, Magnus.” He sinks into the mantra of her words, trying to forget but he just –  _I can’t open it._

The burnt smell of magic and the snick of the lock tells him that she’s unlocked the door, and he lets himself be dragged in and dropped on the couch with attempted gentleness. Catarina kneels before him, perfect and horribly kind, and lays her hand on his knees.

“I can’t begin to understand how you feel, love, but I’m here for you through all of it. Me and Madzie and Alec. I’ll get a key made. I’ll get a hundred keys made. We’ll be here to help you.” She swipes at the tears that have made their way to his cheeks. “You’re Magnus Bane. You can do this, love. Okay?”

 _No_ , he wants to say. He doesn’t know if he can do this. He doesn’t know how to not be a warlock. Every part of his life has been touched by magic, from his cursed birth up until now.

“We’re here for you, Magnus. Always.”

He sits passively, numbly while she holds him. She murmurs soothing nonsense as the wetness on his face soaks into Catarina’s hair, and he remembers absentmindedly that she’s a nurse, that she knows how to take care of him. Everything’s gone to hell –  _ha_  – but at least this is still nice. Magnus finds himself rubbing his fingertips together, the way he always does. There’s no magic there, no little spark to comfort him, but still – it’s calming.

Eventually, he pushes away from her and grins wide until his teeth show. “I’m okay,” he says, and pats her arm. “I’m going to take a hot bath. I’ve got a citrus-scented bath bomb. It’s fine. I’m okay. I’m okay.”

He thinks if he says it enough times, maybe he’ll forget that it’s mostly a lie.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> magnus is cold

Sometime after midnight, Alec wakes to the feeling of an involuntary shudder running through his body.

He thinks, at first, that it must be his wounds causing the tremors – the scar at the center of his chest blossoming pain from under his skin, or the bones in his wrist creaking and sending sharp aches all the way to his toes. A few days have passed since the event itself, but time hasn’t stopped the phantom currents from rushing through him as if he were lying on the cement again, staring up at Jace’s snarling face and unable to stop his own parabatai from killing him.

But this time, his wrist isn’t hurting and the hole in his chest is just a faint, persistent itch. For a moment, he thinks it was all in his head and aims to go back to sleep, except – the shaking continues… because it’s not Alec.

It’s Magnus, shivering in his sleep.

Magnus, who, since the moment Alec first touched him, has always run hot, his body thrumming with barely-contained energy so powerful that it keeps trying to escape from his body.

Now, though, the bare chest pressed to Alec’s back, normally a furnace radiating heat, is chilled, the steady up down of Magnus’ breathing interrupted with erratic shudders. When Alec shifts his legs, he feels Magnus’ feet like ice against his own. And the arm looped around his waist, a comforting weight anchoring the two of them together, ends in cold fingers that tremble against Alec’s stomach.

“Magnus,” Alec says, a little frantic though his voice is gravelly with sleep. His tongue can’t wrap around the syllables properly, and the name comes out rougher than it deserves. “Magnus.”

Alec twists, trying to turn around to see Magnus directly, but he’s stopped by Magnus’ hands pulling him closer, cool lips pressed to the back of his neck in unconsciousness. Alec has never, will never want to leave Magnus’ arms, in this life or the next, but he does it anyway, wrenching himself away so that he can look into that beloved face and see Magnus come awake, those cat eyes opening blearily.

“Magnus,” Alec says again, placing his hand along the icy skin of Magnus’ shoulder. “You’re freezing.”

Magnus doesn’t say anything. His teeth are chattering.

“You’re cold,” Alec says again. He lets his thumb trace up along the length of Magnus’ neck before reaching his jaw and stilling the persistent trembling there with his palm.

The glow of Magnus’ golden gaze is interrupted by one blink, then two. A long moment passes before Alec hears, more than sees, Magnus shaking his head, cheek rustling against crisp sheets.

“Sorry,” Magnus whispers into the dark. “It’s just the magic thing.”

Alec inhales sharply, something sour coiling in his gut at the way Magnus says it.  _The magic thing_. As if sacrificing away the essence of himself to save Alec’s parabatai was something simple. As if handing over his power and his life to his demon father is nothing worth fussing over.

Just a thing.

“How can I help?” Alec asks. He hopes Magnus doesn’t notice the way the words come out strangled and hoarse.

“I’m okay,” Magnus answers immediately. “You don’t need to worry about it.” He says it quietly, gently, but the words snap together to form a shield blocking Alec out that’s as real as the blanket Magnus is pulling over his head.

“How can I not worry about it?” Alec asks.  _All I do is worry about you_ , he nearly says, but he knows that won’t go over well.

Magnus simply curls into himself in response, distancing himself on the bed until the two of them aren’t touching anymore. There’s an empty swath of still-warm silk between them, and it’s a rejection if there ever was one.

“Magnus,” Alec exhales, “Don’t shut me out.”

For a few seconds, there’s no answer, their bedroom silent except for the too-loud, aggravating sound of his own breathing. Carefully, Alec shifts his hand, fingers crawling slowly under the blankets until they bump into the sharp jut of Magnus’ elbow.

“Magnus,” he says again.

“I just want to be able to fix myself for once,” Magnus murmurs, so quietly Alec can barely discern the words. “On my own.”

Alec’s hand clenches reflexively into a fist against Magnus’ arm in protest, nails digging crescents into the flesh of his palm. “You’ve already been doing that for so long,” he says, “but you don’t have to. I’m here. I want to help. Just – tell me what I can do.”

“How can I tell you that when I don’t even know what I’m doing?” Magnus asks with horrible, steady emptiness. “Alexander, I – I feel like I don’t know who I am anymore.”

Alec bites his lip, nearly drawing blood in an attempt to stifle the objection on his tongue. In the aftermath of his separation with Magnus, caused by his own ham-handed lie, the two of them have been trying for total honesty, but this… the devastating bluntness of Magnus’ words hits his chest like an anvil. Because Magnus might not be a high warlock anymore – he might not be a warlock at all – but he’s  _Magnus_. He’s kind. He’s beautiful. He’s one of the only people in the world who saw past Alec’s stiff spine and eternal frown and decided there was something there worth loving.

“Magnus, you’re – you’re always going to be Magnus,” Alec says, knowing how stupid it sounds even if he means it with total sincerity. “You’re always going to be the man of my dreams.”

Magnus huffs out a choked laugh, shoulders shaking from something other than the cold now, and Alec counts it as a small victory. Sliding his hands up Magnus’ arms, he tugs a little, letting out a sigh of relief when Magnus gradually scoots closer.

“I mean it, you know,” Alec adds. “You are. And I don’t care about anything else because – I’ll always be here for you. I meant it when I said I’m not going anywhere.”

Magnus’ entire body goes slack at that, some unspoken tension seeping out from his pores as he draws closer and tucks his head under Alec’s chin. The soft stands of Magnus’ hair tickles Alec’s nose, the familiar scent of sandalwood sweet in the air. Alec tangles his legs with Magnus’ as they curve into each other, relishing the cold press of his thighs if only because it means he’s taking the chill away from Magnus.

“Is this okay?” Alec asks. He rubs Magnus’ back, hoping to warm him up with friction.

Magnus burrows into Alec’s chest, forehead pressing into his sternum, breath cool on Alec’s skin.

“Yeah,” Magnus says. “This is nice.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> based on tumblr prompt: nomagic!Magnus has just poured his heart out to Alec about how devastated he is w/o his magic and crying so then Alec brings a towel/face wipes to clean his face and it's soft and caring etc

Magnus is drunk.

Or, at least, he’s quite certain he’s drunk. If not fully three sheets to the wind, then at least drunker than he’s been a very long time, because he’s pretty sure that that’s his dinner coming up his esophagus. Also he can’t feel his face.

He  _can_ see his nose though, even if he misses when he tries to poke it.

Slumped back onto the couch, Magnus stares at the now-empty glass in his hand, the imprint of his chapstick clear on the rim. Glancing at the crystal decanter on his bar cart ten steps away, he snaps to fill the glass, already raising it to his lips again and squinting when not a single drop of whiskey hits his tongue.

Frowning, he stares at the glass for one long moment, then his hands, feeling oddly betrayed. He snaps again, the sound sharp and cracking, then –

Oh. Right.

Magnus promptly lets the tumbler roll out of his grip, the sound of it thumping against the carpet coupled with his own chin dropping to his chest. The point of it digs into his sternum, right above where he’s unbuttoned his shirt; it’s terribly uncomfortable, but Magnus can’t bring himself to care when all he can think about is the fact that he can’t even refill his damn drink without screwing up.

He isn’t sure how long he sits like that, staring at the ground. Five minutes, maybe. Or twenty? Long enough for a crick to form in his neck, at least, but not long enough for the room to stop spinning. It still is when he detects the faint sound of the door opening and footsteps padding in, followed by socked feet entering his line of vision.

“Oh, Magnus,” he hears.

“Hello, Alexander,” he responds. “You have a hole in your sock.”

Magnus watches absentmindedly as Alec kneels before him, hands sliding along Magnus’ thighs, thumbs rubbing gently. Alec looks exhausted, skin too pale against the darkness of his hair. His eyes are huge and glossy, yet still so lovely as they watch Magnus with a concentration that makes him want to curl into himself.

“Have you been drinking?” Alec asks softly.

“Just a bit,” Magnus answers. He blinks slowly, then adds, “I think I want to hurl.”

In a display of frighteningly quick reflexes, Alec disappears from Magnus’ sight, which kind of sucks a lot, until he reappears a moment later with a familiar little vial of opalescent, blue-purple liquid that Magnus recognizes from his old stock. Alec undoes the stopper and places it against Magnus’ lips, tilting his head back with a firm hand until Magnus drinks.

The relief that pours through Magnus upon first swallow is – it’s horrible. It’s like ice water was dumped over his head, the syrup in his blood disappearing as clear-headedness drips all the way to his toes.

“What the fuck,” he gasps. He jerks involuntarily, the vial dropping to the carpet, his elbow accidentally finding its way into Alec’s belly as his body relearns what it means to be sober. “Oh god. Sorry,” he mumbles, fingers stretching out to soothe the grimace at the corners of Alec’s mouth. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay, Magnus, it’s fine,” Alec reassures him, rising to his feet and folding gracefully onto the couch next to Magnus. He lets Magnus breathe for a minute, silence sweeping through the loft, before he asks with his usual candor, “Why were you drinking so much?”

Magnus shrugs carelessly. “I don’t need a reason. My tolerance is shot to hell nowadays but it doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy a martini.

“You were drinking straight whiskey,” Alec says plainly.

Magnus bites his lip, turning his head toward the window so that he doesn’t have to face the intensity of Alec’s hazel gaze, before he finally speaks. “I tried to turn the light on. With my…” His fingers twitch in his lap. “And I stood there in the dark, staring at the chandelier for an entire minute because I forgot. And when I finally remembered, I – I needed a drink.”

“Magnus…”

“It’s stupid, I know,” Magnus continues, hands clenching into fists. “It’s a stupid thing to think about. I’m alive, you’re alive, Jace is fine, we’re going to find Clary. This is stupid.”

Alec’s voice is soft as cotton. “It’s not stupid, Magnus. It makes sense, I get it –”

“You don’t, Alec,” Magnus says with unrelenting bluntness. It sounds callous, perhaps, but he’s a little angry and a lot sad and he can feel all of it aching in his throat, behind his eyes. “Your mother gets it, maybe, and Luke, but you don’t.”

“So tell me, Magnus.” Alec grabs his hands, completely undiscouraged, and holds them so tightly his joints creak. He’s so close, so earnest, lancing incessantly at a wound that Magnus would rather let fester.

“I don’t want to tell you,” he answers flatly. “I don’t want you to understand. I don’t want you to know what it’s like to feel like this, like – like you’re not yourself, like you’re a dead weight, like you’re useless and worthless.”

To his horror, Magnus realizes that at some point during his outburst, he’s started crying. Not great, heaving sobs, but something smaller and deeper that starts with stutters in his chest, the feeling carving into him until he’s empty and all that’s left are the tears rolling soundlessly down his face and the fierce grip of Alec’s hand on his own.

“Oh, Magnus,” Alec murmurs, before pulling Magnus into the circle of his arms. Alec’s lips nudge against Magnus’ temple, pressing delicate kisses there before he says, “Magnus, no. You’re not worthless. Magnus, you’re – you’re  _everything_. You could never be worthless.”

Alec’s kind words prompt even faster tears. Magnus swallows and buries his face into Alec’s shoulder, inhaling the sweet scent of him and ignoring the fact that Alec’s shirt is getting wet. All the while, Alec runs his hands up and down Magnus’ back, and Magnus is grateful for the fact that Alec doesn’t tell him it’s okay, doesn’t tell him to stop crying; instead, Alec soothes him with the steady sound of his breathing, content to let the Magnus’ heartbreak manifest how it will. Magnus had always thought he was better at keeping things bottled up, but somehow Alec always seems able to bring out the rawest, ugliest side of him.

“I feel like I’m supposed to know that, Alexander, but I – I’m just so tired,” he eventually murmurs. “I feel like I wanna sleep forever.”

Alec’s brow furrows into something sorrowful and sweet. “As long as you leave a spot for me next to you,” he says honestly, and Magnus feels his lungs constrict with the declaration.

Leaning back a little, Alec tilts his head to the side as his eyes slowly traverse along Magnus’ face. Tongue poking out, he gathers up there ends of his shirtsleeves around his knuckles and carefully wipes the dampness under Magnus’ eyes. Smears of black stain the heather gray material.

“Sorry,” Magnus blurts out, scrabbling to rub at his eyes. “My makeup doesn’t last as long now, I didn’t think –”

“It doesn’t matter,” Alec interrupts, pulling Magnus’ hands away before resuming to clean up the last of the smudged eyeliner off Magnus’ face. “I don’t mind at all. Just wanna take care of you a bit. Okay?”

“Okay,” Magnus answers, and he marvels, not for the first time and certainly not for the last, how  _good_ Alexander is. A shadowhunter turned best friend and lover that Magnus can’t envision a life without.

“I know I’ll never really understand this,” Alec says as his hands rest on Magnus’ jaw, fingers nestling into Magnus’ hair, “but you can talk to me whenever you want. If you want. For now… we can just go to sleep? I have the morning off, so I can make French toast?”

Magnus sighs, unable to stop a smile from stretching across his face. Tension seeps from his body as he turns his head to kiss the center of Alec’s palm. “Yeah, okay,” he says. “That sounds good.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> post-3x10 sibling feels

The infirmary door squeaks when she pushes it open. It’s mostly dark inside, the double rows of empty beds cast in gray, but in the back, weak sunlight filters down on dust motes and a solitary figure hunched over a cot.

“Alec,” Izzy calls out softly as she takes careful steps toward him. She aims for gentle, hoping that he’ll listen, but he doesn’t move, letting her words bounce off the granite tension in his shoulders instead. “Alec, you’re supposed to be lying down,” she tries again.

Still, Alec doesn’t answer. As she draws closer, her gaze trails over him, from the careful, stiff-backed way he holds himself to the heavy cast weighing his arm in his lap. It’s been nearly forty-eight hours since everything happened, and Alec is already halfway to full recovery, between his angel blood and sheer stubbornness, but still.

“Hey,” she says as she perches on the chair opposite Alec. “You should be resting.”

“Magnus is sleeping,” Alec whispers instead, gesturing to the occupied cot between them as if that’s an answer. His uninjured hand is occupied with the act of holding onto one of Magnus’, his thumb brushing tiny circles over bruised knuckles and limp fingers with chipped black nail polish.

“Alec.” Izzy sighs. “You need to take care of yourself. Iratzes can only do so much when you took an actual arrow to to the heart.”

He remains silent, though, so she follows his gaze to Magnus. It’s the first time in two days that she’s seen Magnus taking a break, his every other moment occupied with keeping guard over Alec despite how exhausted he’s been. She’s glad he’s finally sleeping so deeply, but Izzy desperately wishes that her brother would do the same too. They both need to heal. For Alec, it’s from a physical injury that was a hair’s breadth away from killing him. For Magnus… well.

She can’t even begin to imagine.

She’s way too used to seeing Alec in the infirmary, but with Magnus – there’s something intensely intrusive about seeing him this way, dressed in one of Alec’s spare cotton t-shirts, hair flopping over his forehead, eyes free of kohl. Just lying there, unconscious and still but for the faint up-and-down of his chest. He looks small. Delicate. It feels wrong for her to see him like this, without his armor.

“We never finished that fight, you know.”

Izzy startles as she jerks up to look at Alec. “What?”

“The one I told you about before all this. Before Magnus left for… for Edom. The one about me dying.”

“Alec –”

“Even when everything else was going on, I couldn’t stop thinking about it,” Alec says quietly as he finally meets her gaze; his eyes, so familiar and kind, glint wetly under the shadow of his lashes. “The whole time, I just had the clearest picture in my head of being old and decrepit and bald while Magnus took care of me, because he… he would do that for me. Because he’s a good guy. But even if he did that, I’d still end up as ashes while he ended up alone again, and I just – I couldn’t.”

Izzy feels herself frowning. “Alec,” she starts, but she hadn’t known how to continue the first time Alec brought this up, and she doesn’t know now. Once again, she’s reminded of just how different they are, even if he’s her brother and her best friend. The devotion Alec already has for Magnus is so hard for her to fathom.

“You knew it was going to be like this,” she settles on saying. “You knew he was immortal.”

Alec shakes his head violently, grimacing in pain he turns back to Magnus. His expression immediately softens, taking on an air of wistful longing that makes Izzy’s inhale sharply. “Of course I  _knew_ , I knew it from the start, but there was so much going on, and it was all so new with Magnus, so I… I forgot.”

“Because you were happy,” she says softly.

“ _Am_ ,” Alec amends. He reaches out a hand and smooths it over Magnus’ forehead, pushing his dark hair out of the way. His fingers trail over the shell of Magnus’ ear, free of that silver cuff Izzy’s always noticed, and down the strong lines of his jaw until it comes to rest on the prominent rise of Magnus’ cheekbone. “I am happy.”

“So?” she prompts, trying to ignore the ache in her chest at seeing him like this.

“So I’m an idiot,” Alec says almost savagely, the word tearing from his mouth. “I kept being scared about the future, about dying on Magnus, and now  _Magnus_ is dying. Like me. Because I signed him up for this when all I want is – I just want to  _be_  with him.”

Izzy stands, rounding the cot until she’s behind Alec. Placing her hands on his shoulders, she squeezes, wishing she could extract the tension from his body. “Alec, it’s not your fault. Magnus is a grown man who made a decision. For what it’s worth, I don’t think he’d blame you for this.”

 _But I’m going to blame me_  is Alec’s unspoken answer.

Izzy digs her thumbs into Alec’s trapezius muscles, massaging the tightness there for a long minute. Gently, she says, “This is going to change a lot of things, but it doesn’t have to change  _everything_ , Alec. Not if you don’t let it.” She presses a kiss to his hair.

“Thanks, Iz,” Alec mumbles eventually. “I – I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“You won’t ever have to find out.” She smiles and steps back, laying an arm across Alec’s back and kneeling next to him. “Now will you please rest? You’re not helping anybody if you don’t let yourself get better.”

Alec nods slightly, gradually rising to his feet and making a face as the motion pulls at tender skin and still-aching bones. The entire time, he stares wistfully down at Magnus, their hands still tangled together.

“I can push a cot right next to his for you, if you’d like,” Izzy suggests.

Alec looks up at her, blinking slowly, and smiles lopsidedly.

“Okay.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in the aftermath of magnus losing his magic, and his ability to glamour his eyes...

Alec wakes to the sound of his cell phone clattering angrily against the coffee table.

His body is always slow and clumsy after a nap, but particularly so at times like this, when he’s waking up in Magnus’ arms, the two of them crushed together onto the sofa as if there weren’t a king-size bed one room away. It takes a full ten seconds before he manages to pull away from Magnus, and another five before his hand catches on his phone, eyes registering the new text message lighting up his screen.

 _I’m here_ , it reads, and – oh. He actually should get up now.

He sits up, planting his bare feet on the carpet and blinking fuzzily as blood rushes to his head. His vision gradually clears, and the first thing he turns to see is Magnus, who hasn’t moved a muscle since the phone’s gone off, dark hair falling over his forehead, face squished against his bicep. Carefully, Alec presses his lips to Magnus’ temple in silent greeting, noting the way Magnus’ eyelashes brush delicately against the corner of his mouth.

It’s odd, probably, to say that he misses the stiff curl of Magnus’ mascara, but he does. Not because of how Magnus looks – Alec isn’t lying when he says that Magnus is the most beautiful person he’s ever seen, regardless of what is or isn’t on his face – but it’s been a week since that night. A week since Magnus last wiped his makeup off his face.

He hasn’t touched his eyeliner since.

Stifling a sigh of frustration that he doesn’t think he deserves to feel, Alec makes for the door, unlocking the door with a quiet  _snick_ before he pokes his head out.

“Thanks for coming, Cat.”

Catarina is still in her scrubs and white sneakers, bags under her eyes and an odd splotchy stain on her top. The smile she offers is genuine, if a little sad, as she squeezes through the door and pulls Alec into a swift, gentle hug.

“How are you?” she asks.

He shrugs easily as they separate. “Fine. Nothing really hurts anymore.” He plucks at his cotton shirt over the center of his chest, where a silvery, puckered scar is hidden underneath. “It’s itchy, but I guess that just means it’s healing.”

“Good,” Catarina says, then, voice softer, she adds, “And him?”

Alec bites his lip, hands instinctively clasping behind his back as he tries to figure out what to say. “He says he’s okay, but…” He glances into the living room, gaze lingering on the steady rise and fall of Magnus’ chest, the minute shift of his shoulders. “He keeps himself busy with little chores, and he’s smiling all the time, but he won’t leave the loft because of his… you know. I’m trying but I just – I don’t know how I can help.”

Cat makes a face. “Nobody does,” she answers bluntly. “It’d be naive of you if you thought you did.”

In another life, Alec might’ve bristled at her tone, but her honesty is refreshing next to all the people around him who are trying to tiptoe around the issue, acting sorry for Alec like he’s the one suffering when that’s not even close to the truth. As he watches Catarina making her way into the living room toward Magnus to say hello, he swallows thickly, beyond grateful that she’s here. Somehow, she’s become a close friend without him even noticing; not by virtue of interaction – they’ve still only chatted just a dozen times, and almost always with Magnus around – but because they both care so deeply about one person that they can’t help but grow close as a result.

“Hey,” he hears, and he sees that Cat is now kneeling by Magnus’ side, prodding him in the arm with her index finger. “Wake up, love. I have a surprise for you.”

Magnus straightens, eyes opening just barely to reveal burnished gold. “You’re horrible at surprises,” he says roughly, and Alec can’t stop himself from smiling at the fabric pattern printed onto Magnus’ cheek.

“Relax, this one’s not gonna get us arrested,” Cat says fondly, and Magnus raises an eyebrow.

She reaches down and pulls a vial out of her bag. The liquid inside sloshes, an iridescent shade of blue-purple that clings to the glass. Magnus stares intently, brow furrowing in concentration as he takes the bottle from Catarina’s hands. Alec notices the moment Magnus realizes what it is, a sharp inhale punctuating the quiet of the loft.

“I used your upgraded formula from 2003, and did a little tinkering to fix the iris color to your preferred shade of brown. A teaspoon should last you about twenty-four hours. And before you ask, yes, I did add peppermint so it tastes better,” Cat says, cupping the base of the vial and nudging it closer toward Magnus. “I learned from the best.”

Magnus looks a little stunned, lips parted and trembling. “What,” he says faintly.

“Don’t ‘what’ me, Magnus Bane,” Cat says, and tugs none too gently on Magnus’ arm until he’s sitting upright. “You can try it, if you’d like, or not. I’m pretty sure I didn’t totally botch it.”

“You wouldn’t have,” Magnus answers, but his voice is still just a quiet, feathery echo of what it can be. “Cat, why did you…”

“If you’re asking why I did this for you, I’m not going to dignify that with an answer,” Catarina says. Her voice is firm, but she says it without heat before she rises to sit at Magnus’ side. “And it isn’t just me, either. Your man suggested the idea.”

Magnus’ gaze turns immediately to Alec. Their eyes lock like magnets drawn to each other, and Alec freezes at the sight of gold swirling bright and wet like sunlight on a stormy day. There’s something there in Magnus’ expression – a curiosity Alec hasn’t seen in too long, a spark of radiance – that hooks itself under Alec’s skin like it’s trying to draw him in.

It works, because he barely notices when Cat’s voice drifts in between them, floating vaguely in the back of his mind, until their eye contact breaks when Magnus turns away to listen to her. “I hope it works,” Cat is saying. “Even if you don’t want to use it.”

“No, I - I do,” Magnus answers. Without prompting, he removes the stopper from the container. He pauses to take a long look at the vial before he raises it to his lips, eyes closed, Adam’s apple bobbing as he takes a tiny sip.

For a full minute, nobody says anything. Alec can hear his heart thumping hummingbird-fast in his ears, the pending silence overwhelming in its completeness.

And then Magnus opens his eyes.

Alec doesn’t realize how tense he is until he releases his fists upon seeing that shade of brown – normal, ordinary,  _extraordinary_ brown. He’s missed the sight of Magnus’ glamored eyes, more than he thought he possibly could; sure, he prefers the gold, because the cat eyes are Magnus at his truest, Magnus at his most honest, but this?

This is Magnus from when everything was still okay.

Before Alec watched him scream in pain as fire licked at his flesh, before Alec let Magnus go to a place he couldn’t hope to follow, before Alec kissed him goodbye when he should have kissed him to  _stay_.

Vaguely, Alec recognizes Cat kissing Magnus on the cheek, whispering something inaudible in his ear that Magnus doesn’t react to. She hugs him,  her arms wrapping tight around him, her face pressed into his shoulder, and Magnus leans into her, hands traveling up and down her spine in a soothing motion. They are to each other what Izzy is to Alec – best friends, confidantes, closer than close.

When she finally gets up to go, Alec feels, more than sees, Cat’s hand patting his shoulder, fingers squeezing, nails digging clear red crescents into his bicep through the thin material of his shirt.

“Take care of him,” he hears murmured in his direction, and then Cat is gone in a gentle breeze, the door clicking shut behind her.

Once she’s gone, Alec takes slow steps in Magnus’ direction. He’s wary of the way Magnus is staring straight ahead, eyes glazed and open and unseeing.

“Magnus,” he calls out softly.

Wordlessly, Magnus turns his head. The blankness is gone, and in its place, Magnus’ expression is – it’s not  _happy_ exactly, but it’s open. His features are pliant, his lips gently curved, hand out, palm up. An invitation.

Alec nearly stumbles in his attempt to get closer. His feet feel clumsy against the hardwood, but he rushes anyway, reaching to graze the pink of Magnus’ palm, then tangling their fingers together in a rough twist.

“Magnus?” Alec breathes. “I’m sorry, I should have asked you –”

His words cut short when Magnus pulls him forward into a hug. It isn’t graceful; Alec’s knee nearly crashes into that too-tender spot between Magnus’ legs, and his elbows flail as he finds his face crushed against Magnus’ shoulder. But still, he finds comfort in the sleep-warm scent of Magnus’ skin, the loop of his arms curved possessively around Alec’s back.

“Magnus,” Alec finally manages to say into the skin of Magnus’ neck. “Magnus, what  –”

“Thank you,” Magnus murmurs against Alec’s forehead. His voice crackles like autumn leaves underfoot, simultaneously fragile and sharp in the way the sound plays in Alec’s ears.

“No, don’t –”

“I know you’ve been worrying,” Magnus interrupts, and he squeezes Alec’s shoulders to stop the protest on his lips. “I know this isn’t what you signed up for, this isn’t what I promised you, but you should know that I’m – I’m grateful for this.”

“Magnus,” Alec repeats, like it’s the only word he knows. “I didn’t sign… I didn’t  _sign up_  for anything. I don’t want you for your magic. I just want you.”

“And you have me,” Magnus answers softly. He curls into himself, the muscles and bones of his body hollowing out with every word. “You have what’s left, I suppose. I don’t know what I am anymore. Not a warlock, not a mundane. Alexander, I feel… less.”

Alec feels an ache in the sockets of his eyes, a burning sensation that rolls down his face in hot waves and constricts his throat. He pulls back from Magnus’ grips and runs his hands up the curve of Magnus’ shoulders, the tendons of his neck, the strong lines of his beloved face, until his fingers find themselves pressed lightly to the sturdiness of Magnus’ jaw.

“Do you think my mother is less of a person?” Alec asks quietly. “Or Luke?”

Magnus looks startled, newly-brown eyes going wide. “What? No.”

“So you do know, then,” Alec says. “That you’re not less, or half. I know that doesn’t change the situation, and I’m not saying that to try and make this easier to deal with, or to take away from what you’re feeling, but – you have to know that nobody thinks less of you. Because you’re still  _you_.”

Magnus’ gaze drops to his lap. “A part of me believes you. A part of me recognizes exactly what you’re saying. But it doesn’t change the fact that I don’t know who I am anymore.” He admits it like a forbidden secret, and even though he speaks quietly, the confession shred through Alec’s chest.

There are no reassuring words that he can say to that, no declarations of love and support that can help. In the end, he can’t understand what Magnus is going through, or what doubts and fears are coursing through his mind. All he can do is press their foreheads together and hope the contact communicates everything Alec is feeling – how much he worries, how much he cares, how much he wants Magnus to be happy.

He thinks of mentioning the research he’s been doing about Edom, and about finding Asmodeus, but – well. Now may not be the time.

“Just remember,” Alec finally settles on saying, “when things get crazy, don’t push me away, okay?”

Magnus blinks, then laughs under his breath. It’s the best thing Alec’s heard in a long time, and Alec can’t stop himself from pressing a kiss to Magnus’ temple.

“If you’d like,” he says when he leans back, “I was thinking of making dinner at home tonight. Something easy like we – like we used to do. I know things are busy, but someone wise once told me it was important to take moments for yourself.”

Magnus chuckles again, twice more than he has in the past minute than he has in the past week. “How many of my old lines are you going to through back at me?”

“All of them. I’ll think up more of them while I’m in line for groceries.”

Magnus pauses for a moment, then touches the corner of his eyes, the movement almost involuntarily. “Maybe I… I can come with you?”

Alec smiles, heart singing with unspoken relief, and pulls Magnus to his feet. “I’d like that,” he says, and tugs Magnus with him toward the door of the loft.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> raphael learns that magnus has lost his magic

The door opens with an unsteady creak, and that’s the first sign that the rumors Raphael’s been hearing are true.

The fingers curled around the knob are unpainted, the face that peers from inside the loft pale and bare. The smile that greets Raphael is unfamiliar – it’s hesitant, twitching and careful, and Raphael wants to rip it apart with his nails.

“You didn’t,” he says. His voice comes out harsher than he wanted it to. “You didn’t fucking do it.”

“Raphael,” Magnus says slowly. “It’s been – there’s a lot to catch up on –”

“ _You didn’t fucking do it,_ ” Raphael snarls, and rushes into the loft, his hands on Magnus’ throat, elbows pressed into Magnus’ chest. He slams Magnus into the wall of his foyer, hard enough for the paintings to sway with the force of the blow. “Tell me the rumors are wrong.”

Magnus doesn’t say anything, doesn’t protest the violence of Raphael’s movements. His eyes are wide, and horribly brown, lashes short and sparse without mascara. “Raph, I can’t,” he says. “I – I can’t.”

Raphael hears that. He pauses, lets the words sink into his skin, into his dead heart, and he feels himself  _wilt_. His grip on Magnus’ neck loosens, and he stares impassively at the bruises that have formed under thin, weak skin. His anger suddenly feels useless, hopeless. Because despite the signs that confirmed exactly what had happened, he’d hoped that he was wrong. He’d hoped that those outlandish, ridiculous rumors about Magnus throwing away the essence of himself to save those damn  _shadowhunters_  was just that; another story concocted by Magnus triggered by the boredom of immortality, another tale meant to set tongues wagging and set the Shadow World alight with Magnus Bane once again.

“Why did you do it,” he says. It’s less a question and more a statement, because why does the answer even matter? Magnus isn’t Magnus anymore, and no response can fix that.

“Alexander was – Lilith’s magic was going to kill Jace. I went to my father because my… my magic alone couldn’t save him.”

“And so you gave it away,” Raphael says thickly. “Threw your life away like it doesn’t matter. Like it won’t kill Catarina to watch you  _die_. Like it won’t kill me.”

“It won’t,” Magnus answers gently, and he shifts to cup Raphael’s jaw. His hands are as kind as ever, gentle and just a touch too warm on Raphael’s skin. It’s as comforting now as it was sixty years ago, when this man was the only person who was willing to look Raphael in his feral red eyes and say,  _you’re going to be okay_.

“It will,” Raphael says. He turns his face to the side, staring at the blank spot above Magnus’ right shoulder. He doesn’t want to see the expression on Magnus’ face. “It will because I watched my family die, I watched Rosa die. And I told myself that I’d make it through because I still had another family; you, and Cat, and Ragnor, and those vampires I call mine. And now you – you’re  _leaving me too_. You told me you’d always be here for me.”

“Hey.” Magnus clutches at Raphael’s chin, forces them to face each other. Magnus looks wretched, his mouth downturned, his eyes wet, but still  _kind_ , so unbearably kind. “I’m still here for you. I’ll be here for a long time.”

Raphael looks up to meet Magnus’ eyes. “You’re a fucking liar.”

Magnus recoils, a sharp inhale filling the quiet between them, and for a split second, Raphael feels guilty. But the guilt doesn’t override the feeling of betrayal in his gut, the realization that the trust and faith that he had in Magnus, and Magnus’ continuous friendship and guidance and presence, had failed him.

“I’m sorry,” Magnus says harshly. He drops his gaze down to his feet, and all Raphael can see is the limp dark hair at the top of his head. “I’m  _sorry_ , but I couldn’t see another way. Raph, don’t – don’t make this harder than it already is. This is hard enough as it is.”

“You signed up for it,” Raphael says acerbically, unable to stop himself. He feels hollow inside, hollower than he did when he first realized his heart had stopped beating and that his tongue craved blood. “You tied yourself to the shadowhunters, you picked these  _children_ you’ve known for months instead of picking yourself. You deserve it.”

“Raphael.”

Magnus’ voice is soft and pleading, the call of his name curling like smoke around Raphael’s body. Unbidden, Raphael finds himself leaning forward, fitting his forehead into the crook of Magnus’ neck. Magnus’ arms fit around Raphael’s shoulders, soothing as they rub up and down his spine. It doesn’t really help, but it settles something inside Raphael all the same.

“You’re always so selfless,” he murmurs. “Why couldn’t you have been selfish  _for once_  in your life?”

“I’m sorry,” Magnus says again. “I’m so sorry.”

Raphael doesn’t know how long they stand there like that, with Magnus embracing him. He doesn’t like to be touched, doesn’t like physical contact if he can help it, but it’s like his body already recognizes that someday, he won’t be able to touch Magnus at all, and he needs to seize as many moments as he can.

Faintly, he hears the sound of something in the loft; a quiet, hunter’s footfall against the hardwood, accompanied by the faint, too-sweet scent of angel blood.

“He’s here, isn’t he?” Raphael asks, before pulling away from Magnus’ hold. “He’s in the loft right now.”

Magnus takes a breath, shoulders rising and falling. “Yes, he is.”

Raphael steps back, putting him at arm’s length from Magnus. “I don’t want to see him. I don’t want to see you with him.”

 _I hate him_ , Raphael thinks, but doesn’t say.

Magnus cups Raphael’s jaw again, thumb brushing Raphael’s cheek, and this time, Raphael leans into it. “I understand,” he says quietly.

Raphael turns around, putting his back to Magnus so that he doesn’t have to see the softness of Magnus’ gaze, the sorrow there that Raphael suspects won’t go away for a long time. “Let me know when he isn’t here. So we can – so we can talk. Don’t come find me, I don’t want you on the streets alone now that you’re…” He doesn’t finish the sentence.

“Okay,” Magnus says. He places a hand on Raphael’s shoulder, gripping him tight. “I’ll see you soon.”

“Yeah,” Raphael answers, then rushes out the door before Magnus can say anything else.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> that 3b trailer got me rambling so excuse the lack of proper capitalization here

for a moment, all is well. alec looks up from the bar cart he’s installed in his office to ask magnus what he’d like to drink, a handle of gin already in his hand. something light, he thinks, before they head out to dinner. he wants to try that korean place seven blocks away from the loft; there’d been a sign about all you can eat beef for $34.99, and he’s sure between him and magnus, they could make it worth it.

“magnus,” he calls softly, and smiles at the way magnus’ head perks up. “do you want anything? i can make you a –”

then, unexpectedly, the expression on magnus’ face freezes. he looks confused, for a moment, the warm brown of his gaze suddenly growing distant and hazy. slowly, his hand reaches up, patting awkwardly at his necklaces, at his chest. he cocks his head, then opens his mouth to say something…

then his eyes roll into the back of his head.

alec watches, terrorized, as the long length of magnus’ body crumples like paper in a fist, legs giving, arms limp. his back thumps against the rug, then his head, cracking against the ground with a sound that wakes alec from his horror.

“magnus,” he shouts. the gin bottle slips from between his fingers, and distantly, alec hears the crash of it against the hardwood, the tinkle of splintered glass shattering, though no sound is as loud as his own heartbeat in his ears. “ _magnus_.”

it’s two steps to the coffee table, one onto the cushions of the sofa, then one more to vault over the back. but those four steps are four too many, because by the time alec crouches down next to magnus, there’s already blood pouring from his nose, from his mouth, trickling down his cheek.

“ _magnus_ ,” alec tries again, “shit,  _magnus,_ please!” but his words are useless, doing nothing to stop the way magnus convulses, the way the scarlet of his blood contrasts with the ever growing paleness of magnus’ skin. alec tries to mop at it, but it just smears on magnus’ skin, making it look worse.

shit. his hands won’t stop shaking. awkwardly, he maneuvers an arm under the back of magnus’ head, letting his back fall weakly against alec’s thighs, then pulls his phone from his pocket to call catarina.

“alec,” he hears on the other line. “what are you –”

“m-magnus,” alec blurts out. his voice is trembling, his throat filled with fear that makes it hard to speak, hard to swallow, hard to breathe. “unconscious. in my office. now.  _please_.”

he lets go of his phone, and it drops to the floor – the same way the gin bottle dropped, the same way magnus dropped,  _why is this happening_  – and alec cradles magnus’ head closer to him, curling his neck to get closer to magnus’ face. the gelled spikes of magnus’ hair tickle alec’s forehead, and he wants to cry.

“hey,” he says frantically. “cat’s coming, you’re going to be okay, i’m here, you’re going to be okay.”

the only answer alec gets is the violent seize of magnus’ body, blood bubbling at the corners of his mouth. a droplet falls on alec’s wrist.

“magnus,  _magnus_ , don’t do this. fuck.  _fuck,_  where is she,” alec babbles, even though he knows it’s been five seconds since they spoke. “i’ve got you. i’m not going anywhere.  _fuck_.”

alec can’t stand this. he can’t stand sitting here, being useless,  _waiting_. he wants to pull his own hair out, wants to tear at his skin with his nails, wants to take magnus’ pain and make it his own, because today and tomorrow and for as long as he has, he’d rather be hurting than magnus. magnus, who’s suffered so much, who’s lost the essence of himself yet tries to smile so that alec won’t worry. magnus, who’s the best person alec knows, the person alec wants to spend eternity with.

he doesn’t deserve this. he doesn’t deserve to suffer like this. he deserves better, he deserves kindness and joy and  _happiness –_

“i won’t lose you,” alec murmurs.  “i can’t. don’t go, i just – i love you. i  _love you_. i love –”

he hears the portal before he sees it. without turning around to check, alec catches the sound of its arrival, hears the scent of it filling his office. he notices right away that it’s different than when magnus does it; louder, more staticky, more acrid on the back of alec’s tongue.

 _not that magnus can make any portals at all_ , alec thinks hysterically.

“alec, hey. move, i need to get to him. god – alec,  _move_.”

it’s the hardest thing in the world when alec lets go. but he allows his hands fall from magnus head, from his shoulders. lets someone else take the burden that alec would gladly hold forever.

and then he sobs.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> alec doesn't think about aging the same way anymore.

“When I’m ninety,” Alec says to Magnus.

He says it now, says it with certainty, says it without a single moment’s hesitation, but he knows he wouldn’t have said it a year ago. Because a year ago, he didn’t think he’d live to be ninety. Didn’t think he’d live to be sixty. Didn’t think he’d live to be forty-five.

He didn’t think he’d live long, and he didn’t really care anyway.

A year ago, he’d known exactly what the rest of his life would look like. He’d seen a face, vague and formless, with long hair, a tinkering laugh, and a red-painted mouth. He’d seen himself burning a rune into the delicate skin of her wrist, smiling at her as if he loved her, not that he knew what that really meant.  He’d seen them, together, holding onto the keys of the New York Institute, maybe smiling his first real smile since their marriage began. He’d seen himself working with Izzy and Jace, watching them grow into the happy, fulfilling lives they deserved.

It’d be nice to have that, at least. Because he wanted children, too, but he couldn’t imagine touching her skin, fumbling in the dark going through with it when everything in him wanted –

Someone else.

The secret person he’d dreamed about since he was thirteen. Someone he’d once imagined with blond hair and blue eyes, though that had gradually faded in favor of a firm chest, strong arms, and a crescent moon smile just for Alec. Someone who wanted Alec for Alec, overseriousness and all. Someone who was –

Magnus.

Since Magnus, Alec’s expected future has taken a sideways spin. Which means that when he thinks of tomorrow, he imagines traversing New York with Magnus while indulging in bottomless mimosas at the corner diner, urging him all the time to talk honestly about the loss he’s experiened. He imagines a year from now, welcoming Magnus home as he portals back after working with a client, both of them sharing those secret grins that come every time Magnus uses his newly regained magic. He imagines five years from now, making bleary eye contact with Magnus when they both wake up to the sound of their crying baby.

He imagines – oh, for the first time, he dares to imagine being ninety and still desperately in love with the man of his dreams.

 _When I’m ninety_ , Alec thinks, and leans in closer to the soft expression on Magnus’ face. His eyes are faintly lined, his hair imperfect and unruly in the way it stands up on his head. He’s as beautiful now as he was the first day Alec saw him, all gilded in silver and armor like the god he was born to be, as beautiful as he’ll be on the last day, if that day ever comes, whether he’s a young man or not.

 _When I’m ninety_ , Alec thinks again, and smiles.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> magnus' thoughts when he hears alec tell him to slow things down and savor the moment

They’re standing in an alleyway, wet cement underfoot and busy passersby at their sides, yet Alec’s eyes are focused, glimmering beautifully under bright red lanterns and string lights overhead.

“When I’m ninety,” Alec says, his voice soft and earnest, his body tilting forward into Magnus’ space, “I’m not going to remember the trendy gallery or the amazing Greek food we had if we don’t slow down and – and savor moments like these. When I’m staring into the eyes of the man I love.”

He means it, Magnus knows as he looks down and away. He’s heard Alec reflect this sentiment enough times to recognize the truth of it, appreciates the fact that Alec has the courage to say it out loud more than he can express.

Yet while it sets Magnus’ heart stuttering a little in his chest, full of fondness and love at the knowledge that Alec imagines that the months they’ve been together will extend into decades, but at the same time, he can’t help but feel –

Bitter. Resigned. Tired.

His Alexander is a sweet man, the sweetest Magnus has encountered in lifetimes, but he’s also bullheaded and serious, having lived a life in black and white for so long that he still has trouble seeing gray. Gray that Magnus falls squarely into, a man and a warlock that Alec never should have chosen had something in his gut – something stronger than decades of strict lessons shoved down his throat – not decided to rear its head.

Well… a former warlock.

Which makes it all the worse, and all the harder for Alec to understand. And it’s clear to Magnus that despite his best efforts, Alec doesn’t understand at all, considering the way he looks at and talks to Magnus these days. It’s hard not to notice the way Alec’s eyes are constantly honed in on Magnus, tracking his every move like his next step will break him. Or the things that Alec says, simple remarks that twist the knife deeper between Magnus’ ribs than anything else could.

_“We have this covered.”_

_“Fifty years is a long time.”_

_“Slow down. Savor the moment.”_

As if gently coaxings and well meaning advice are what Magnus needs to fix all of this. As if Magnus doesn’t know.

Please.

Magnus has spent  _centuries_ savoring the moment. He savored the moment when he saw his father’s cat eyes and felt like he was home for the first time in years, and the moment when he left Asmodeus for freedom, and the moment when he met a warlock named Ragnor Fell, then Catarina Loss. He savored his first bite of chocolate, and becoming High Warlock, and helping every client who was kind to him. He savored being with George and Imasu and Etta and Camille, because there were good moments there, beautiful moments worth remembering in perpetuity. He savored all of that, because if there’s one lesson he’s learned in the long length of his life, it’s that every moment passes, with or without you, so he better appreciate every one because it’s never coming back.

Except now, his moments are limited. He only has a finite number left to love before they cease altogether. That’s why he wanted to visit the gallery in Chelsea, and the souvlaki truck in Queens.

Because if not now – then when?

There’s a part of Magnus that desperately wants to tell Alec this – to let his voice bleed raw and honest with the hope that it might make him feel better to finally tell  _somebody_. But the thought of stringing out the words roiling in his chest, of laying down, one sentence after another, how he cracked open and weak and useless he feels, seems like a challenge more daunting than anything he’s faced in a long time. The thought of going through that with no guarantee that Alec will get it is worse.

He loves Alec – god, he does. Alec, with his big hands and soft lips and good intentions. But fear of vulnerability and being a burden doesn’t disappear overnight, which is why Magnus resorts to smiling, letting his cheeks round out, letting his mouth curl as he steps into Alec’s arms.

“Of course,” he ends up saying. He keeps his eyes locked on Alec’s, swallowing deeply. “Everything I need is right here in front of me,” he adds, and he notices the way Alec smiles – pleased, joyful, like he feels like that single sentence has somehow settled it.

It makes Magnus that much reassured that he hadn’t spilled his guts to Alec. At the end of the day, what he said isn’t exactly a lie – Alec is all of the love and kindness and family that Magnus could ever want and need – but it isn’t exactly the whole truth either.  _Another day, maybe_ , Magnus thinks. He swallows deeply, and makes sure to keep smiling wide.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry, made it angsty :P


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a hasty post 3x14 coda

it’s past midnight by the time magnus leaves alec’s bedroom.

he flicks his wrist, and heat curls up his body as his sleep clothes are exchanged for a full, respectable outfit, makeup and all. quietly, he turns around, noticing the way trace light from the window catches on alec’s slumbering form, caressing the jut of his cheekbone and the line between his brow as he frowns and clutches tighter at the blankets on magnus’ side of the bed.

 _oh alexander_ , he thinks.

he’s careful as he walks toward the door. he keeps his movements slow as he opens and shuts it, then walks hurriedly down the hall – away from the ops center, away from the shadowhunters who look at him with wariness in their gazes, and toward the front entrance, where he slips out and away. the air is chilled, fresh on his skin, cool enough that he shivers as he sits on the front steps of the institute and lets himself breath.

his magic –  _lorenzo’s_ magic – sits heavy in his blood.

it fits like a jacket three sizes too small, tastes like milk a day after it expires; it’s a constant litany of “almost, but not quite” in magnus’ head as he goes about his day and pretends that everything is fixed, like he’s magnus bane again.

he snaps. fire blooms in his palm. it’s not quite hot enough, not quite blue enough, not quite –

blood starts to drip from his nose onto his thigh.

magnus blinks, but this time, he doesn’t wipe it away. instead, he stares ruefully at the flame in his grasp, watches the way the light dances against the darkness of the night.  _how many more times will he be able to do this?_  he wonders. how many more portals can he create, how many more summonings can he do, how many more spells can he perform before –

before –

before he loses his magic again?

the first time, when his father had torn his magic from him, it had felt like the snapping of a bone, or the sharpness of a cut. he hadn’t had to time think, hadn’t had time to recognize it, before his magic had left him, once and for all. this time, though, it’s like a needle boring its way into his stomach, making slow progress, twisting as it goes through muscle and meat before it hits his spine. every drip of blood is like a drip of magic being leeched away from him, leaving him empty until he’s.

until he’s nobody again.

he remembers keenly the feeling of being mundane. remembers the empty hole in his chest and the fake smile on his face. he remembers, too, the joy of having magic returned to him, no matter how ill-fitting it was.

and now – he’s about to lose it again.

magnus snaps again – and this time the omamori charm he’d left inside the bedroom appears between his fingers. the gold thread shimmers under moonlight, a reminder of the warmth of alec’s voice when he sweetly offered magnus luck and protection after only their second date.

he needs it now, he thinks, as another drop of blood trickles from his nose.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> lorenzo is a butt.

Honestly, the only word he can use to describe his feelings right now is  _glee_.

Absolute, unadulterated glee, of the variety in which Lorenzo hasn’t experienced in decades. Because never in his wildest dreams could he have ever imagined that Magnus Bane –  _the_ Magnus Bane – would ever be in this position.

Humbled. Pleading.  _Powerless_.

He remembers, still, the first time he’d learned of this other warlock. He’d been a young man then, just barely grasping the meaning of magic and immortality, when whispers of  _Magnus Bane_  had floated across the continent, the name a constant shadow that Lorenzo heard mentioned in the same breath as kings and queens and vaunted creators like Diego Velazquez and Damia Forment. They – his teachers, his acquaintances, even the dreaded shadowhunter he occasionally encountered – talked, in hushed tones, about this warlock’s vast reservoir of magic, his charming nature, his fathomless secrets. Always, they spoke of him with an edge in their voices, sometimes awestruck, sometimes fearful, always reverent.

Lorenzo remembers thinking:  _I want that_.

The feeling had only multiplied when he first met Magnus Bane in the flesh; saw the glint in his deceptively brown eyes, heard the clever, guarded lilt of his voice. Just about everybody who encountered him loved him, and Lorenzo was no different. In the presence of the man himself, he had felt himself involuntarily drawn into Magnus’ orbit, laughing at his jokes, cataloging his intelligence, craving his respect.

Lorenzo had been a fool.

Because the truth had emerged soon after that. He’d learned from the gossip mills that at the end of the day, trying to match Magnus was a futile effort. How could anybody ever try and be as powerful, as magical, as talented as someone with the blood of Asmodeus running through their veins? Asmodeus, a true prince of hell, unequaled in power and infamy. Magnus’ gift was handed to him on a platter, swells of unfathomable demonic magic swirling at his fingertips from birth.

Meanwhile, Lorenzo had toiled away at his craft for centuries to no avail. Sure, he had his tricks, he had his clients, but he was never the person everybody turned to in times of need.

He was no Magnus Bane. He never would be.

Which is why this moment is all the more glorious. To think that Lorenzo had spent centuries secretly envious of Magnus’ demon-given abilities, wishing his spells were as potent, wishing his words were as smooth, and now, the opportunity has been presented to him, a coveted gift he never thought he’d receive.

 _I deserve this_ , he thinks merrily.  _And so does Magnus._

Magnus, with his penchant for flouting the rules and doing what he wants. Magnus, well-loved and well-respected, the first name on anybody’s lips when they need help. Magnus, who’s allied with the shadowhunters, who’s with a shadowhunter, and a Lightwood nonetheless.

Lorenzo grins. He’s in the dominant position now; he holds all the cards. Magnus will need to beg and plead and supplicate for a chance at Lorenzo’s mercy, and the thought of it, after centuries of waiting for a moment like this, is glorious.

Feeling light as a feather, Lorenzo lifts off of the ground.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> post-3x14

He doesn’t like it here.

It’s not something Magnus can say out loud – not now, when no other place makes sense for him to go. But he can’t help but think it, as he follows Alec down the hallways, past soldiers he vaguely recognizes.

He’s a resident now, not a visitor.

Maybe it’s because he’s on edge, overstimulated, with the magic in his body still settling and figuring out if it wants to stay, or maybe it’s because his eyes are open wider because he’s looking at the Institute as a home, and not an arbitrary location. Either way, Magnus notices the outright stares that come his way, the stutter in steps as people walk by him. He’s always been  _obvious_ , but theirs isn’t a look of curiosity or interest. Instead, their eyes are hard, glinting, lips pressed together as they watch Alec, then him, pass by on their way to Alec’s bedroom.

“Hey,” Magnus hears, and he looks up to see Alec, who’s waiting for him ten steps away. “You okay?”

“Of course,” Magnus replies quickly, and smiles honestly at the way Alec holds his hand out. His fingers wiggle, and Magnus lopes over and pinches Alec’s side before curling their hands together.

Alec’s touch is grounding, but it only takes a few seconds for Magnus to return to where he was before. With every shadowhunter he passes, he clutches harder onto Alec, because he’s reminded not only of how unwelcome he is  _now_ , but also how unwelcome he’s  _always_  been to the Institute – this one, or any one around the world.

He remembers being escorted through Institutes in London, Shanghai, Sydney, with seraph blades at his back on his way to update wards. He remembers being spit on and shoved, because nephilim were brave under Clave law that always protected them. He remembers hearing snickers from guards when they passed by horns displayed over doorways, or goat feet taxidermied in their cases, or jars upon jars of eyes, irises purple and black and gold, all remnants of Magnus’ people that shadowhunters wanted to collect.

He walks through the New York Institute now, with his hand held in Alec Lightwood’s, and remembers all of this with more visceral clarity than ever before.

Previous visits have never felt permanent, but today is a disturbing reminder that the peace he’s found with his nephilim friends extends only so far as those who love Alec. He will never belong at an Institute, no matter who he’s with, and that weighs in his stomach like the heaviest stone.

“Alright, then,” Alec says, and Magnus blinks to the sight of Alec pushing his bedroom door open. “Welcome. Not that you need it – you’re pretty familiar with this place.” He ducks his head and grins.

Magnus is still for a moment, biting his lip, before bright laughter inevitably pierces through his somber thoughts as it bubbles up from his chest. Swiftly, he walks in behind Alec before shutting the door.

It’s true – Magnus is pretty familiar with this place. Many hours have been spent in this room on mid-afternoon naps or late night discussions or lips on bare skin. But what’s most poignant to Magnus now is how he forgets that he’s in the Institute when he’s alone with Alec like this. He can forget, for a moment at least, that he’s in a building that has spilled the blood of his people, and instead bask in the fact that his boyfriend is smushing his t-shirts into the same drawer as his underwear so that Magnus can have a drawer all to himself.

“Is that okay?” Alec asks. “I know you’ve never really needed space, but I don’t know – maybe you want it?”

Without answering, Magnus walks up to Alec and presses both his palms against Alec’s chest. Tilting his head up just a bit, he kisses Alec lightly, smoothing his thumbs over the soft fabric of his jacket.

“This is okay,” he says. For now, he means it.


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> because the 3x16 trailer was SAD

_This is nice_ , Magnus thinks.

He’s so warm right now, wrapped in sunlight, staring out the windows of the loft toward summertime Brooklyn. He sways on his heels, hands on his elbows as he inhales deeply, enjoying a quiet moment at home – before he feels strong arms wrap around his shoulder, feels lips that taste of orange juice press against the edge of his mouth.

“Dance with me?” he hears.

“All the days of my life,” Magnus answers without hesitation, and spins to face Alec. His gaze lands on the smiling width of his mouth, the crinkles at the corners of his eyes, the perfection of the way he looks at Magnus, all adoration and love that Magnus doesn’t know if he deserves.

Alec trails his fingers down Magnus’ arm, then steps back, still gripping Magnus’ hand. Maintaining eye contact all the while, he bends down, pressing a kiss to Magnus’ knuckles.

“I love you, Alexander,” Magnus says fondly.

“I love you too,” Alec says, and immediately pulls Magnus into him. He maneuvers Magnus around the living room with expert precision, motions easy and graceful, before he sends Magnus twirling, spinning around and around and around until he stops in the circle of Alec’s arms again, the only place he ever wants to be.

“When did you learn how to dance like that?” Magnus asks vaguely, as he touches the soft skin at the back of Alec’s neck.

Alec cocks his head. “What?”

“Where’d you learn to dance like that?” Magnus repeats, but this time he frowns  when Alec’s face screws up in confusion. “You don’t – you don’t know how to dance. Alexander?”

“Magnus,” Alec says, but suddenly his voice sounds hollow, echoing between the walls of the loft even though that’s impossible. His face starts to blur, features melting into each other, and Magnus scrabbles in a panic to keep them in place.

“Alexander?” he tries again, but the word comes out of his mouth scratchy and weak. He starts to stumble backwards, limbs suddenly weak, limbs suddenly feeling like they’re  _not there_. Alec’s hand tears away from his, like smoke Magnus can’t hold onto anymore.

“Magnus, stay with me –”

 _Sorry,_  Magnus thinks, because he can’t speak anymore.  _I want to._ Alec’s face fades into darkness, the last thing Magnus sees before it turns to nothing.  _I’m sorry, Alexander, I’m sorry_  – 

And he is, he realizes. He’s sorry. Because he should be fighting, but a part of him is glad to let go, is glad to sink into oblivion. Because everything hurts right now, his head, his body, his heart, and he wants it to be easier for just a moment. Wants not to hurt for just a moment.

 _Magnus, I love you_ , he thinks he hears. He wants to open his eyes so he can repeat it back to Alec, see Alec’s beloved face, but instead, he –

He breathes, and in another world, Alec calls for Catarina as the heart rate monitor starts to beep erratically.


	18. Chapter 18

Alec is quiet, that night, and Magnus can’t quite pin down why.

To say things have been tumultuous as of late is an understatement; he finds himself caught off guard by this moment of peace they’re having right now, this perfect moment in between disasters when things actually seem  _ fine _ . When Clary is alive, Jonathan isn’t, and Magnus is awake and who he was before: a warlock, with his true magic returned to him, living in a penthouse in Brooklyn that he's called home for decades.

That doesn’t explain why Alec is standing on the balcony, though, hands clutching the rail until his knuckles are white, pointedly looking anywhere but inside, where Magnus sits on the sofa with a glass of bourbon in his grasp.

“Would you like a drink?” Magnus tries asking loudly, but the only thing he gets in response is a tightening of Alec’s shoulders under the thin material of his jacket.

It’s unlike Alec to avoid Magnus like this; Alec, who’s thrown himself into this relationship with the kind of blunt, driven force that’s propelled things forward even when Magnus wanted to hold them back. It’s unsettling, enough so that Magnus feels compelled to snap the tension, to be the one to lance at this until it bursts.

“Alexander,” he calls out as he rises from his seat. He snaps, sending his now-empty glass from his hand to the kitchen sink in a shower of joyful, familiar blue sparks, then takes loud, measured steps toward Alec. “My love. Tell me what’s wrong.”

Alec’s head turns right as Magnus comes up on his left. “Nothing,” he says. His voice is guttural, thick.

“Alexander,” Magnus says. Softer.

“Ignore me,” Alec answers. “It's stupid.”

Magnus shuffles in a little closer until his arm is pressed to Alec’s. Alec’s presence is usually a grounding thing for Magnus, but the stiff tension of his muscles and the way he's avoiding Magnus’ eyes has Magnus’ stomach flipping, from fear or anxiousness he doesn't know.

“You’ve never been stupid, Alec,” Magnus says honestly, and lays his cheek carefully against the jut of Alec’s shoulder. “Not ever in all the time I’ve known you, and certainly not now. But even if you were, you know I’d still want to hear what it is that’s troubling you.” Magnus swallows, then adds, “You can always be honest with me.”

Alec’s jaw is clenched, muscles ticking, his spine straight as a ruler -- until it slumps, half a minute later. Magnus runs his hand along the curve at Alec’s upper back, and exhales in relief when Alec leans into him. “It’s stupid,” he repeats. “And maybe you’ll hate me if I say it out loud.”

“No,” Magnus murmurs. “I could never.”

He means it. Alec has never been perfect -- far from it -- but he’s also the last person who would ever willfully take part in something that would knowingly hurt Magnus, especially in the aftermath of the Soul Sword situation. Which means that whatever it is that Alec has done, whatever mistake he thinks he's made… it's something Magnus will readily forgive.

So Magnus says nothing, but rubs his palms along the soft skin at the back of Alec’s neck instead. He watches as Alec bites his lip, teeth digging into the plumpness until it goes concerningly red, and waits.

“I can’t stop thinking about -- I’m happy you have your magic back,” Alec eventually starts clumsily. “I know how important it was to you, and I -- I can barely imagine losing my runes, so I can’t imagine what you felt like when you thought you’d be a mundane until you… until you died. But I said something to you when you were in a coma…  because there was a part of me that was. A part of me that was -- shit. A part of me that was --” Alec stutters, like he’s choking on his words.

Finally he blurts out, “There was a part of me that was happy you were mortal.”

Magnus stills. His hand freezes _. Oh. _

“There was a part of me that liked the idea of -- of us being together for the rest of our lives. Which is a really fucking selfish thing to want, but I -- I wanted it,” Alec continues, the words flowing, undammed and free, before they finally coming to a halting, grinding stop. He looks nervous, lips parted, and for the first time tonight his gaze is glued to Magnus. His eyes are wide, glassy under the lights; from the corner of Magnus’ vision, he sees Alec reach for him, then flinch, as if he’s seeking reassurance and expecting rejection in return.

Magnus wants to grab onto Alec’s hand, but he -- he doesn’t.

There’s something like a war going on in the back of his mind. A battle on two fronts.

One side, louder and angrier and scarlet red, asks:  _ how could you _ ? How could Alec want to change Magnus and the man he is -- a warlock, powerful and immortal and born to outlive dynasties? How could Alec claim to love him so wholesale, yet somehow also wish  _ death  _ upon him? 

But then.

The other side of Magnus thinks:  _ I get it. Me too _ . Because Alec is right -- it  _ is _ unbearably selfish for him to want Magnus to himself, yet that’s what Magnus wants from Alec. To have him for as long as time will permit, to be the only person he kisses, the only person he wants, the only person he loves. And maybe it’s overly possessive, yet Magnus can’t help it. He understands.

“Alexander,” is all he manages to say.

“I’m sorry,” Alec says, and crowds in closer to Magnus. “I wish there was a better way to say it. I wish I didn’t have to say it. But it’s how I feel. Now you’re you again, and you’re going to live. And maybe -- maybe, someday, you die, but by then I’ll be long gone. Magnus, I -- I want to spend my forever with you, and I’m  _ going _ to spend my forever with you, but you -- you can’t do the same.” Alec inhales. “And it’s not a bad thing, I love you how you are, you know I do, but I can’t help but think it… it’s hard.”

Magnus breathes in a ragged gasp of laughter. “Yes,” he says. Because he’s gone through this too many times, and every single time, it’s the most agonizing nightmare.

“I’m sorry,” Alec says again, and looks ashamed.

It hurts Magnus to see Alec like this -- hurts him more than what Alec had said. It’s neither of their faults that these are the cards they’ve been dealt; this was always a problem the two of them were going to have to face, and most of Magnus is glad it’s happening now, rather than later, when it’s had time to fester into something uglier, something more resentful.

“Don’t be sorry,” Magnus says, and places his hand on top of Alec’s. “I don’t -- I’m not mad. You’re right. I’m going to continue on, living this life for as long as I have, longer than most, longer than you, most likely. And I hope you understand how much I meant it when I say that it hurts me as much as it likely hurts you that that's the case.”

Alec presses his forehead to Magnus’, and nods. “I know,” he says.

“I'm sorry too,” Magnus adds.

“Don't be sorry,” Alec echoes, then pulls Magnus into a hug. His arms fold around Magnus’ body, holding on tight, and Magnus tucks his chin on Alec's shoulders as they stand there, together, in the quiet of the balcony.


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> when will magnus be happy again

“Where’s Magnus?”

Catarina inhales, sharper than she means to, and looks down at Madzie’s face. Her cheeks are rosy as she peeks out from under her blankets, her eyes half-shut with sleep, and she has no idea the punch it is to Cat’s stomach to hear that question.

“He doesn’t visit as much,” Madzie continues, then blearily declares, “I miss him. And Alec.”

“Oh, honey,” Catarina murmurs. “I know.”

Biting her lip, she reaches out to stroke Madzie’s hair. It’s much longer now than when Madzie first came to her a few months ago, reaching down past her shoulders even when loose. Catarina bends down to press a kiss to the soft skin of Madzie’s temple, but it’s mostly a pretense, a chance for her to figure out how to tell Madzie the truth.

When she closes her eyes, she can still see Magnus, lying in that Institute infirmary bed, his face bare, his hair limp. His heartbeat had been erratic, faint, his brain activity spiking, his breath a soft, faint thing against her fingers. The last time she’d seen him like that… she blinks.

She’s never seen him like that.

She’s never seen him so weak, so frail, so unlike the man who became her best friend hundreds of years ago and promised never to go. Her constant pillar, her emergency contact before the phrase even existed. Cat had known, from the moment she barreled into the Institute and saw Magnus on the ground, pale and bloody and writhing in Alec’s arms, that the magic Magnus had triumphantly called her to tell her about hadn’t taken – that his body was saying no. Conversations in the Spiral Labyrinth had only confirmed it, and the feeling had gotten worse when those warlocks had patted her shoulder and said, “Tell him I’m sorry.”

They were so close to losing him.  _She_  was so close to losing him, just months after losing Ragnor. And she’ll  _still_  lose him, in a few years, a few decades; he’ll go, while she stays and continues on.

Immortality has never felt like a joke as much as it does now.

“Magnus hasn’t been feeling well,” Catarina finally manages to say.

“Is he getting better?” Madzie asks quietly, as her eyes start to droop. She snuggles in closer to Catarina, forehead tucked against Cat’s hip, and pulls her teddy bear under her chin.

Catarina blinks. “Yes,” she says.

Which is – a lie, for now. But she dreams it’ll be a truth, soon enough, as she gets up and moves to close the bedroom door.

**Author's Note:**

> come say hi on [tumblr](http://laughingmagnus.tumblr.com)!


End file.
